The Portrait Of A Father
by The Lady More
Summary: Ten minutes, that's all you have left to end this hell. To end your father's agony that plagued him for almost a year. And now new circumstances came to light and the game became more deadly for its players. AU


_**I wanted to write a fic in honor of the anniversary of Sir Thomas Moore's execution on July 6**__**th**__** but I couldn't bring myself to write his execution. So I decided to honor him in another way by describing him in a Perks companion piece I became inspired to write while watching the Lion King of all things. So I suggest you listen to the song (which is the score to the part where Mufasa dies) as you read this:**_

_**.com/watch?v=8vCNn6vOVQ0**_

_**Note: It is in the Second person POV of his son John and this is an AU fic in the Perks Universe. **_

_**Warning:**__** Mentions of torture**_

_**Disclaimer:**__** This story is a figment of my imagination….if this happened lord help us all. **_

The Portrait of a Father

_Because the soul has deep roots in personal and social life and its values run so contrary to modern concerns, caring for the soul may well turn out to be a radical act a challenge to accepted norms-__**Sir Thomas Moore (1478-1535)**_

Ten minutes, that's all you have left to end this hell. To end your father's agony that plagued him for almost a year. And now new circumstances came to light and the game became more deadly for its players.

There were now two options, you could be as weak as everyone including the members of your family thought you were and let this go or you can be strong and fight to save your father by telling the king the dark and terrible secret you had harbored deep within you. Your father was not dead, instead he was alive but in great and terrible agony.

Your eyes close for a moment as you weigh the options. You can risk your father going through the agony of a beating or death or you can save your father's life. To see the same man you look to as a hero: strong, courageous, and intelligent. Instead of this broken, weeping, spiteful, pathetic excuse for a man you eventually have grown to despise.

You have five minutes now. Now it is all or nothing, life or death. It was a hard decision. Suddenly a voice, your father's voice speaks to you:

"My only son, do what your heart tells you is right."

And your heart tells you to run.

Ignoring the pleas of your closest friend you run as fast your surprisingly inherited athletic legs (considering your father is not the most athletic man in court) could carry you.

Four minutes, you are sprinting down the halls, pushing through the crowd of courtiers that stood in your way, even knocking some of them over. But you don't care you NEED to do this.

Three minutes, you come to a grand staircase which you don't notice right away since you are fixated on the goal to get to the king before the situation got any worse. You stumble on the first stair. You feel a bit foolish for doing such a humiliating thing in front of hundreds of people, but you get back on your feet and keep going.

(A/N: Note the symbolism here….)

Two minutes, you see your destination at the end of the hallway. Each step you take a memory of your father flashes through your head.

Your first memory comes from when you were very young. It was one of the days your father was home from court. And you are both running around outside the Chelsea manor in a game of chase. He suddenly catches up to you and lifts you in his strong arms. He spins you around in the air as you both giggle before you both lay on the grass and look up at the stars. He taught you about the stars and consolations even told you stories.

Your second memory contains another player involved in this deadly game, the king, your godfather and father's closest friend. Your poor uncle Harry, who believed for months that his best friend and mentor was dead, failing to realize that your father and he were in grave danger. You are older now, almost fully matured into a man. Uncle Harry came one of his oh so many visits to their home. You stand at the top of the stairs with a smile on your face as the two men below you embrace in a deep hug. You then remember soon after being caught spying yet you were able to join the "big boys" in a game of cards.

Then a third and final memory flashes through your mind. This memory is the darkest of the three. It is a montage of all your father's beatings you have witnessed bestowed upon him by his captor. From simple smacks across the face to brutal whippings that turned your father's back from a few measly scars that were barely visible to a sight that made it look like he was attacked by a wild animal.

You even remember that Christmas night where he was dragged out into the snow by his captor with you and George (your good friend following). The three victims (which included yourself) were sobbing believing that your father the infamous man of all seasons would die that night. It was a scare tactic that followed by a brutal beating containing kicks, punches and whippings all because you and your friend had the humanity to at least try to give him a good Christmas.

The montage of dark memories finish with you doing everything you can to comfort your father in his darkest hours. From letting him lay his head in your lap as your run his hand through his hair, from cleaning his wounds. It was like the roles of father and son reversed. Yet the bond between the both of you suddenly became stronger than ever.

One minute left, you are at the door with two members of Uncle Harry's privy chamber lads sitting on either chair on either side of the door. Forty seconds, you ignore them as you burst through the door. Twenty seconds, you hear their outraged cries as you run down yet another hall.

Ten seconds left, you are at your destination. A sense of victory rushes through your body. Your father is coming home tonight everything was going to be okay and life would be back to the way it was supposed to be.

Five, four, three, two, one.

You burst open the door.

"Your majesty I-"

You look ahead of you and you feel defeat. There, next to Uncle Harry and across from Lord Cromwell (who you and George jokingly call the king's prized horse because his role as the King's lover), was your father's captor. The son of Satan was in the same position he often was when he wanted to taunt and manipulate which he was probably doing at the moment. He sat comfortably in his chair with his goblet of ale in his hand.

This time he is staring at you with dark eyes. You feel he is telling you, your father is going to pay for this tonight. Your mind suddenly goes blank as the feeling of defeat and fear runs through your veins.

You don't remember what happens next. You feel yourself exchanging a few words with the King before bowing and walking out the door. Tears are falling down your eyes as you walk out of the room. You failed him, you let the father you have known and loved down.

You find yourself running into the nearest room and slamming the door shut. You cry for a few moments before you spot a glimpse of a portrait covered by a veil in the corner of the room. It looks slightly familiar to you. In curiosity you rise to your feet and walk over to it. You quickly take the cloth and gasp. It is your father.

Dressed in a fine fur coat and a velvet red doublet, he sat up tall as he held a tiny book in his hands. His dark eyes were narrow and determined. As you look at your fears and sadness leave you and they are replaced with the same determination that was depicted in your father's eyes. You then smile amongst your tears.

That man in the portrait you have always admired and looked up to was going to come home alive…no matter what it took.

_**I hope the waterworks didn't come out as you read this as I was crying while reading it. And I hope you enjoyed and remember reviewers receive cookies. **_


End file.
